Stepping out in Gotham
by Lyttlelucyfer
Summary: Exploring No Man's Land Gotham, Robin discovers a terrified young girl with a strange tale to tell.
1. Bea and Timothy

Wheee! My first ever Fanfic!

This chapter is a little short, but more is on the way.

Disclaimer; As much as I wish I did, I don't own Batman, Robin, or other DC characters.

Bea, however, is my creation.

Once upon a time, there was a girl, and something bad happened to her, but a brave young man came and rescued her and carried her away, to somewhere beautiful, where they would be happy for ever after. 

That's what would happen. At least, that's what was meant to happen.

So far, it wasn't going to plan.

Bea had loved stories since she was tiny. She had read them every spare moment she got, fairy tales, love stories, swashbuckling thrillers, she loved them all. They were part of her, so much more than her busy family, or her indifferent friends. Now it seemed they had betrayed her. She desperately wanted a brave white knight, or a heroic sea captain to come to her rescue, hell, even a friendly wood cutter would do. But no.

She was on her own. 

It was six days since the city had fallen, six days since her parents had been crushed inside their apartment. Six days since the bad thing had happened to her. If her hero was coming, he was running late.

It had taken her ages to figure that it had been six days, that she had lost all that time in that strange building. She could hardly believe it. She felt so confused, she felt like she shouldn't be mourning her parents anymore, it had been six Goddamn days, but the grief was still raw and choking inside her. 

She couldn't remember what had happened.

She couldn't find any food or shelter.

She couldn't look after herself.

And no one was coming to rescue her.

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Tim's life had become increasingly, horribly strange. What had happening to the city was terrifying, the level of destruction and death had almost driven him to the point of hysteria. At least his family was safe, which was more than could be said for a lot of Gotham's inhabitants. But that misery was broad, mindless, distant. What disturbed Tim more was Bruce. Always driven and determined, there was now something more to Bruce's attitude. An intensity that Tim had never before seen in him, a desperation. Bruce had always protected the city with his very heart and soul, but now it was at its most vulnerable, Tim couldn't help but feel that Bruce was getting stretched to his limits. He was becoming less than a person, nothing more than his cause. Bruce was losing himself to the victims of No Mans Land, and it left Tim terrified. If Bruce's personality was leaving him, what was next?

That's why Tim was out that night, unbidden by his mentor, desperate to find some purpose, some cause of his own, to get himself away from Batman, or Bruce, or whoever he was becoming. He had to get out into the wasteland of his city, see the damage through his own perspectives, judge it for himself. That's why he sat, huddled in his cape, on the apex of one of Gotham's few surviving roofs, the realisation gradually dawning on him; it was worse than he ever could have feared. 

Perhaps Bruce new what he was doing with the strange attitude he had adopted. Perhaps the only way to deal with something like this was to become less than a person, less than a living feeling human. To be nothing more than a cowl and cape and, when he got the chance, a pair of strong hands, a decent fighter and an amateur medic. To give up on being a hero.


	2. Meeting at the park

Part two.

Once again, I don't own Batman, Robin or any related characters. 

Enjoy.

It had started to rain about half an hour before sunset. Bea had rushed through the gathering dusk in desperation, hunting for a place to shelter as the chill water sluiced down, saturating her hair and clothes. The first few places she had tried, ruined shops and lobbies of the buildings that surrounded the park, were occupied and she was shooed away by people made selfish and territorial by the cataclysm. Eventually, she found a tourist information kiosk that had remained unconsidered as shelter due to it's size. After a few minutes struggling to undo the latch through the crack in the slatted blind, she managed to roll the whole thing open enough to climb in.

Inside it was cold, and she couldn't get the blind closed all the way, so she was sitting in a draft. But at least it was dry. She squatted under the tiny desk, going through the contents of the office; maps, pamphlets, business brochures and little books of vouchers, not much use to anyone now. But she decided to take a map, so as she travelled round the city, she could make notes for herself on what condition different parts of the city were in. She took a pen, and then she started to think about what she would need as time went on; stuff to barter seemed a high priority, as she had no idea of how to go about getting her own food, so she took the boxes of pens and pencils from the cupboards beneath the desk. She also took a few of the maps, and stuffed the whole lot into her school bag, relieved that she had gone against fashion and bought a big backpack. She had eaten that day, people had been giving out food in the hospital parking lot. She could worry about food as each new day came, she was certain she could cope. She had never had that big an appetite. 

As night began to set in, she realised that freezing was a very real concern, and searched around the little office for something to warm herself with. She found a large box of bad quality copier paper near the old PC, and began screwing sheets of it into thick flat-ish shapes. Then, she slipped off her drenched jacket and waterlogged boots, stuffed the wadded paper into her sweater and jeans, and curled up on the thinly carpeted floor to try and sleep.

At about an hour after sunset, Bea Harsnett fell asleep to the sound of the pattering rain on the roof of her small sanctuary.

*********************************************************************************

Tim had been out for nearly twelve hours now. Having headed out just before dusk, he had raced the rain down into the streets of the city to try and offer what little help he was capable of. After giving around thirty people emergency first aid, rescuing four teenagers from a collapsing building and helping the remains of a neighbourhood construct a tank to collect rainwater, he had spent the night trying to fight down the mass of crime that possessed the panicking city. Looting, he decided, could be overlooked, as he thought it unfair to deny the people of Gotham any comfort that material things could give them at a time like this. Murder, assault, rape and arson, however, had to be stopped. Now it was getting near to 6am, and he was allowing himself a well-earned rest, out of sight in an old bandstand at the northern edge of the park. He collected rainwater to drink in his open palms and ate one of the energy bars he kept in his belt. His uniform was waterproof, essentially, but rain was creeping into the sleeves and under the edges of his mask, making it uncomfortable. Now that day was gradually breaking, he felt that maybe the city would start to settle down a little, so he could go and get some rest, before heading out for another night tomorrow.

Tim stepped out of the bandstand and stood in the pre-dawn among the dripping saplings, wondering how so brief a rest could leave him feeling so rejuvenated. It crossed his mind that a boy of his age shouldn't need to feel rejuvenated. Then, something strange jumped out of the landscape at him, it took him a moment to place, and realised that a tourist booth stood, almost pristine, in the middle of the little square at the entrance to the park. It struck him as odd that no one had tried to use it for something, given that it's small structure had survived the 'quake. Then it occurred to him that the blind on the front of the booth was rolled up a little at the bottom. Somebody _was_ using it.

Reaching the booth, he peered through the few inches of space above the counter and saw a figure lying asleep on the floor. At first glance it seemed deformed somehow, but then Tim realised that they had stuffed something into their clothing to keep themselves warm. Admiring the ingenuity, a sound drifted to his ears, and he turned away from the booth to look for the source. It was a rowdy gang of young men, storming down an avenue that connected with the park gate. He had seen them before, last night, dragging people out of their shelters for the hell of it. There were too many of them for him to stop alone, then and now. He realised he had to get the person out of the booth as fast as he could, the only way to keep them safe from the horde. Shoving the cracked blind as far up as it would go, he leaned over the counter and yelled "Hey, morning!"

The girl, whose face he could now see, stirred sharply, and twisted herself to look up at him, startled. She was in her early teens, maybe a year or two younger than himself. Her skin was pale and dull, her clothes crumpled, but her long light brown hair was surprisingly clean. A large bag, a school bag probably, lay on the floor beside her, along with a dark green anorak and a pair of hiking boots. He could see now that she had crumpled paper stuffed into her clothes. Looking up at him with frightened eyes, she quietly asked "Wh-who are you?"

Tim smiled down at her. "You can call me Robin."


	3. Crashing

Part three, it starts to get interesting!

Once again, I don't own Batman, Robin, etc.

After Bea had scrambled out of the kiosk window, her bag in tow, Tim led her out of the streets and into the park, the sounds of the mob dangerously close at their backs. Cutting along the jogging paths, they re-emerged from the park into a mostly residential street, with a few emptied stores scattered along it. Tim decided that the best thing for the girl would be to find her somewhere to stay for a while, somewhere he could leave her safe. Looking up at the buildings, he noted one of the upper floors of a large old house had a 'To Let' sign taped in the window. Judging by the quietness of the street, and the age of the buildings, he guessed that it had been deserted in fear, and no one had thought to check if it had actually collapsed. He decided that nobody would really care if her broke into the empty the apartment and left the girl there. He slipped the roll of lock-picks out of his belt, and headed for the building's front door, beckoning the girl to follow him. 

Within a few minutes, they where in the second floor apartment, sitting at the Formica topped table, eating more of Tim's supply of energy bars. Bea couldn't quite believe what was going on. Across the table from her sat an urban legend, Robin, The Boy Wonder, feared fighter of crime. 

He was really short.

And she couldn't help but wonder how she was supposed to fear and respect somebody wearing that little yellow cape.
    
    "So," he said, breaking the silence and making her start slightly, "what happened to you since the 'quake?" 

She considered for a moment what she was going to tell him. There was so much to tell. It had been six days, her parents were dead, she had had to run and hide and forage in the rain and...

That was it. All she could remember. She had watched her house collapse, heard her parents screaming, then…something had happened, that she couldn't quite define in her memory, but which she knew was there, happened. Then she was walking through the streets as clouds gathered, running to that kiosk in the rain, just the night before. She knew it had been six days, she had heard it said in the milling crowds as she walked. But where the Hell had she been? She looked up and saw that Robin was waiting for her to respond. He looked worried.

"I guess I really don't know." She replied. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. She continued, "The first thing I remember after the 'quake was, I was coming home from my friend Lizzie's house, and as I got into our street, I saw our building start to shake, and then it…it fell. My Mom and Dad were…inside."

Words stopped coming then, grief and confusion and feelings that she couldn't put names to, but a few days ago would have sworn didn't exist within her, swept over her, and she sank into miserable sobs. She lay her forehead upon her folded arms and, for a few minutes, was alone, lost in anguish. Then Tim placed his hand on her shoulder. She could feel each of his fingers pressing her skin through her sweater, could somehow sense the texture of his palm, and when she turned her head slightly to look at his hand, she realised that he had taken off his thick glove. Somehow, in that tiny space between her tears and the boy sitting opposite her, that little gesture meant the world to her. 

She looked at his face, and saw the grief written on his young features, disguised with determination and protectiveness. She couldn't let herself forget that his home was gone, too. She reached up and took his bare hand with her own, holding it between them, wiped her other wrist across her eyes and asked; "So what do we do now?"

His expression started her worrying. Then she knew, he was going to leave her there. He had put her somewhere safe, comforted her, and now he was going to leave. He couldn't! She wouldn't let him! She couldn't survive, not on her own, not like this! She grasped the hand on the table tightly, clinging to it like a lifeline, and looked desperately into Robin's face, trying to see some reassurance that she wouldn't be left alone again. 

That's when she realised he was speaking. He was talking to her and she couldn't hear it, speaking quickly, and a hint of fear entering his expression now, as he seemed to be staring at her in near panic. She vaguely wondered what could frighten a crime fighter like him so badly.

And then the world slipped sideways, and fell away from her.


	4. Missing Time

Not mine, Im just borrowing them 'cos Im bored. 

Part four.

Tim wasn't panicking. He wasn't quite sure what it was he was experiencing, but oddly enough it didn't seem to be panic. He had seen people go into seizures before, had realised she was slipping somehow and tried to get her to focus on him to stop it, but then the twitching had started and she had fallen to the floor, and now she was in full-on convulsions and he had to do something. He knew what to do, had done it before, but had felt the distinct pulse of panic in his gut every time. Now that wasn't happening. He knew that he had to act, that he was needed, that a life, yet again, was at stake. Somehow, this time, it wasn't a frightening thing, the girl had put her faith in him, not the way the rest of the city did, but in a way that he could really feel. And he knew, just knew, that he wouldn't let her down.

As he had this revelation, he dragged off his cape, wadded it up and slipped it under her head, so she couldn't hurt herself by hitting it on the floor. With his gloved hand, he pulled her jaw open and pressed his thumb into her mouth, pushing her tongue down to prevent her from choking on it. Then he settled himself on the floor beside her, ready to help her move if it looked like she was going to hurt herself in the throes of the seizure. After a few minutes, the convulsions began to ease off, and he began to talk to her in gentle tones. 

"Its okay Bea, you're safe. You were hurt, but you're safe now. I'm here, It's me, Rob, I won't let you hurt…"

He realised with a strange pang, that he had said his title as if it were a name, a real name. He was, unconsciously, trying to make her feel at ease as she woke. He couldn't recall the last time he had genuinely wanted to make another person feel comfortable in his presence. The same wave of…feeling came over him as before. Smiling slightly to himself, he took his finger off her tongue, and she sighed as she began to come round. The convulsions had stopped, and he kept talking softly to her as she shakily surfaced from unconsciousness. He raised his voice slightly, calling her name as he saw her coming to, and smiled broadly at her, the gesture wrinkling the bottom edges of his mask, as her eyes fluttered open. 

She looked dreadful, drained, and he wondered how much sleep she could have had over the past few days, wondered if that was why she couldn't recall anything. She began to smile back at him.

"Rob…" she said shakily, and then, more assuredly, "Robin. You're still here."

Tim felt strangely wounded when she said his title instead of calling him Rob, even though it wasn't his real name. But she seemed relieved to see him. 

"Of course I'm still here," he said gently, "How are you feeling?"

Her face creased for a moment in thought, then her eyes flew wide open, and she stared up into his face.

"Robin, I…remember…I think." 

"Okay Bea," he soothed, "Just let it come back to you, we have plenty of time."

He picked up her coat, which he had left to dry out over one of the chairs, felt it to check that all the water had run off the waterproof fabric, and spread it over her. Smiling she curled up to bring her legs under the big anorak, and her eyelids began to droop. Tim knew that he should try to get her to tell him what she had remembered, or to stay conscious so he could figure out if she was hurt from the seizure, or if it had happened before, but he couldn't bring himself to keep her awake. Getting to his feet, he closed the thin curtains at the windows against the watery midday light, and settled with his back to the wall, on the surprisingly comfortable carpet. 

Wondering what these feelings he was experiencing were, he tried to place them. Affection, certainly, but he often felt that way for the people he helped. He was fairly sure he wasn't attracted to her, in fact, when that thought brought Stephanie into his mind, he knew he didn't feel the same way about Bea. So what was it? He felt desperate to help her, in a way he had never felt, like she was his sole responsibility, like he was her only lifeline. He had no idea where these feelings were coming from, but he hadn't been so confused since he first began working with Bruce. Sighing, he realised just how comfortable that patch of floor was, felt his chin drop and his head lurch slightly, and gave up the fight to stay awake. 


	5. Middle of the Night

Disclaimer; I love DC, they're my best friends, they let me borrow their stuff.

Tim woke feeling refreshed, if a little creaky from remaining seated against the wall all night. These days he woke fast, full awareness rushing back to him in a matter of moments, and all the previous day was presented in his mind in clear detail. Bea had remembered…whatever. It would probably be tough for her, especially if she kept experiencing seizures. Recall of repressed memories was traumatising no matter what the circumstances. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out through his mouth, internally taking stock of his body. He had had just about enough sleep, somewhat unusual, and he felt unusually alert. He decided to talk to Bruce about letting him go home early some nights, it wasn't like the Wayne mansion was short on bedrooms, after all. His neck was cricked a little, and the skin on his wrists and face were sore from where his mask and gloves had contracted and rubbed as they dried out. Apart from that, he felt fine, and was surprised that it had taken him a few seconds to register that he was now lying on his side, still with his back against the wall, on the damnably comfortable carpet.

Opening his eyes, he was vaguely alarmed to see that Bea wasn't where he had left her, sleeping under her spread out anorak, but then the vague hissing sound he had been aware of since he woke resolved itself into running water, and he calmed immediately. Judging by the lack of natural light, it was night, probably a little before midnight if he could still trust his internal clock. A brief search of the apartment revealed that it had been completely uninhabited before the quake, and so there were no supplies of food or anything. He dug through the pockets on his belt and came up with three remaining energy bars and a handful of glucose pills, and put two of the bars on the table for breakfast.

Bea's bag lay on the floor by the kitchen table, the top cover-flap unfastened. Tim eyed it for a moment, and then managed to over come the urge to look inside it by knocking gently on the bathroom door. "Come in, Tim.", Bea called, and he let himself in. She stood in front of the sink, the cold tap running at a trickle, with a handkerchief wrapped around her index finger, using it to scrub at her teeth. He suppressed a smile, having seen Dick do this once when they were camping, the exact same action but for the river water instead of tap water. He had never let Dick forget that he had remembered a completely unnecessary inflatable raft, but had forgotten his tooth-brush.

"You might want to turn the tap of," he said as kindly as he could. "We don't know if its actually coming from the water mains or from whatever's left in the tank." She reached out and turned the tap off, looking immediately guilty, and he tried to make a comforting facial expression at her. He realised that there was something…intangible bothering him beyond their immediate predicament, but couldn't quite define it enough to be truly worried. He gave up on it, whatever it was; that feeling usually meant it wasn't that important.

When she was done, Bea left him to wash up by himself, and he took the opportunity to Peel off his uncomfortable mask, clean the lenses properly and reapply the adhesive from one of the little capsules in his belt pocket. The water from the tank ran out as he was finishing washing his neck, where his collar lay, a ritual that always soothed him, whether done in the shower cubicle in the guest suite at Wayne mansion, or with stream water in the woods outside of town. He turned off the now dripping tap with a sigh, dried his face and neck on his cape, fastened his tunic and headed back into the kitchen. Bea was sitting at the table, her bag in her lap, seemingly taking stock of the contents. The energy bars were untouched. He sat down and pushed one towards her and she picked it up gratefully, almost shyly. "We'd better move on soon," he offered as they ate. "This place isn't exactly safe, its likely to be looted as soon as people start getting themselves together. This is pretty much the last of our food, so we should find something to barter with and try to get some supplies." He had considered taking her back to what remained of the cave, but decided against it. Bruce would lose it and, though it would at least serve to break him out of his angst, Tim didn't want to bring Bruce's temper on himself for any reason. Ever. She nodded, and then smiled slightly and held the open backpack out to him. Looking in, he saw the maps, pens and paper she had taken from the booth and returned her smile. "Clever." he said, and that small comment seemed to lift her mood, as she began chattering at him, smiling and casually explaining her thought processes of the previous night. He sat, chewing his breakfast (dinner?) and nodding occasionally, when it suddenly hit him what had concerned him earlier.

Oh God.

Almost in shock, he forced down the dry mouthful or energy bar and looked at Bea with wide eyes. After a moment, she stopped chatting and noticed him staring, seeming to stare back evenly, despite the lenses of his mask separating them. Her eyes asked him what was wrong, if it had been something she had done to upset him, and that look of self-degradating guilt made him even more reluctant to point it out. "Bea," he said softly. "You called me Tim."


End file.
